Home » Food and Drink »  Go Healthy »  An ABCD finally becomes a Desi I had hated this, being forced to be the escort of my snooty American Born Confused Desi (ABCD) cousin Kallol. As she had walked besides me covering her nose, (well she would have covered her eyes as well, if she did not fear stepping into what she called "Village muck") I remember that I was highly embarrassed.I knew her as just a pretty American kid, whose gorgeous birthday pictures were shown to me year after year by Ma. Ma used to force me to exchange letters with Kalls (her Americanized name), which I did reluctantly at first and then more eagerly as collecting stamps became my favourite hobby. Of course, Ma dictated the letters and I dutifully penned details of my winning the marble and spoon race in school or Papa's promotion as a senior accountant. The letter always ended with an invitation to spend the vacations with us. This never happened. A prompt reply would arrive, written on scented paper, thanking my Ma for her invitation and yet politely saying that this was not possible, as Kalls would not be able to bear the heat and humidity of Mumbai. Kris Uncle and Pauline Aunty would add their two or three lines as well. How I had smirked and lorded over my class -mates, as my collection of stamps and scented paper grew larger and larger. All this harks back to the past. And then I recall, she had arrived suddenly one day and taken over my private space. A space that Ma had thoughtfully portioned from the drawing room, in our tiny Andheri flat. Internet is so expensive and Kalls spent hours, sending e-mails after e-mails to some guy called Sean. I spied one day, and this is what her email read: "Imagine a garbage dump, barnyards of sickly cattle, starved wild dogs, dirty pigs, seas of smelly manure. It is like Los Angeles's pollution multiplied hundred times over with masses and masses of people. This is India as I see it. She hated India, I hated her, and here I was forced to drive her down to meet my Nani. God, she could not even understand why she could not call her Nani and should call her Dadi. The jerk!It had been raining heavily and yet Kalls had refused to have the hot cup of steaming tea. The boy serving it is was filthy; the tea was filled with germs. "Could she have a coke please?" Coke? The boy, at the ramshackle tea bar, on the way to Alibagh had obviously not understood her accent and had stood gaping at her. She had lost her head and created a scene. Amidst guffaws all around, I had fled pulling Kalls with me.Somehow we had managed to reach Nani's house in Alibagh. I had decided to stay well away from Kalls and wished that the five days of our visit could be over as soon as possible. I recall that breakfast the next day was a complete flop. She refused to eat anything but eggs, fried sunny side up please! Nani, a 'shudh' vegetarian was horrified. Ultimately I had to devise a settlement; a packet of Lay's potato chips was the breakfast solution.Fortunately Nani's house was sprawling, I did not have to see Kalls if I did not want to. Days passed. On the fourth day, I encountered Kalls. The dhoban (washerwoman) had walked in, and Kalls wanted some clothes to be washed. Oh, the little naïve ABCD cousin. Her delicate skirts were meant for the washing machine and not for heavy pounding by the riverside.I recall it so well. Suddenly I had heard a loud scream from the courtyard. I had seen Kalls scurrying and picking up the baby - yes, an unwashed dirty Ranjana - the dhoban's one and a half year old daughter. We had all rushed out, there was a snake gliding past. Kalls was holding the dirty, unwashed kid in her arms and was looking more than a little shocked. Suddenly, she gave the baby a big kiss.Kalls had just embraced India and all its sights, smells and sounds. She was no more an ABCD but a true Indian having conquered her fear of "the Juxtaposition World where everything seems to be in extreme contrast". Today I have accepted my cousin as my own. My only regret it, that the chapattis she makes are rounder than mine.Lubna Kably

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